Paradise Lost
by TheMusicalPoet
Summary: Hannibal and Clarice find themselves living a new, wonderful life with one another until Hannibal is framed and the peril they once faced begins anew. Please R & R.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

It had been three years since criminally insane Dr. Hannibal Lecter and ex-special agent Clarice Starling escaped from Baltimore. After living in Argentina for just over a year, Hannibal and Clarice moved to a large, historic home in Paris, France. Dr. Lecter had managed to get the previously dilapidated house for a decent price, and repaired it to his liking using the money he had reserved in selective countries. The house had once belonged to a French _cavalier_ and was set in a gorgeous valley beside _la rivière T_a_noise_. There were iron gates that opened up to the cobblestone driveway, and luscious green grass and colourful gardens. The setting was very private and very much to Hannibal and Clarice's approval.

The pair lived an interesting, yet contented life. They had learned a lot from one another, and still there was much to learn. During the first few weeks in Buenos Aires, Clarice treated Hannibal like an acquaintance, maybe even more like a psychiatrist who would watch her, and listen to her, and ask her questions. Likewise, Hannibal responded and helped her manage her emotions. It wasn't until the doctor had taken Clarice off of medication that she began to worry about the decision she had made to leave Baltimore. Hannibal quickly made sure that she had no regrets.

As time passed, Clarice became more comfortable with Hannibal and found herself getting closer and closer to him. Hannibal was careful not to push her, and in the end they were each rewarded with a strong, honest relationship. However superficial their relationship still was, it was becoming clear that they were prepared to advance into deeper feelings. Perhaps, Clarice had resolved, they were even romantically in love.

During their Argentine residence, Clarice began to express an interest in Europe. She wanted to travel to European countries and see the sights, dine at the restaurants, and learn the history. It was strange but she felt that, after a much needed vacation from the FBI, she was becoming interested in other things. This pleased Hannibal and, without hesitation, he found the proprietor and bought the house that they lived in now.

Upon their arrival, the couple sought out careers for themselves. Hannibal soon opened an office in the South of Paris and Clarice was put on to the staff at the Louvres art gallery and museum. It was for this purpose that Hannibal changed his name to Claude Clèter and Clarice changed hers to Charmaine Vanier-Clèter.

With intense respect for one another, a growing love, and now, a steady income, Hannibal and Clarice were actually starting to forget their pasts and start new lives for themselves.

Everything was falling into place.


	2. Warning Signs

WARNING SIGNS

Pale morning light flooded through the window blanketing Clarice with warmth. She was lying in her bed, stirring contentedly, as the sun came up over the mountains. Sitting up, she smiled slightly, thinking about how happy her life had become. She was in a beautiful country, surrounded by an exquisite landscape, in a wonderful eighteenth century home, and sharing it all with a man who both exhilarated and frightened her. Of course she missed Ardelia, her other friends from the FBI, the thrill of working on new cases. But she was determined to let it all go and start anew. After all, this was part of the therapy Dr. Lecter had prescribed. She had to admit; she felt better.

Dr. Lecter slept in the bedroom down the hall at the opposite end of the house. It was the smaller of the two, but had a balcony that overlooked the elaborate garden at the back of the house. Usually, Dr. Lecter would lie in bed as the sun came up, and he would think about Clarice. However, this morning his bed was empty for he was already downstairs.

As Clarice wobbled down the stairs, rubbing the grogginess from her eyes, she heard the faint _chop... chop..._ of a knife. Bemused, she involuntarily flashed back to the night Paul Krendler had joined them for dinner. _He deserved it_, she thought bitterly, but was nonetheless troubled by her cruelty. She turned into the kitchen and found Dr. Lecter in a sleek, dark purple pair of pyjamas. He stopped chopping what turned out to be vegetables, and he turned to her as she entered.

"Good morning Clarice," he said, ignoring her unkempt hair, and her half open nightgown.

"Good morning Dr. Lecter," she replied.

He seemed slightly disappointed, "please, Clarice, you must call me Hannibal. We are very much past the petty formalities of acquaintances, don't you think?"

"Of course, Hannibal. I merely wanted to keep a po –."

"Clarice, no explanation is required," he said, returning to his chopping. "Tell me, are you very much alright with omelettes this morning?"

"Yes, thank you... Hannibal." She tried to catch his eye as she sat down at the table. A smile crept across his face but he did not look up.

Clarice watched Hannibal intently for several minutes as he prepared their breakfast. She loved the way he was so graceful and so cunning... as if he could read every thought that poured through her head. As if he knew how much she ached to be held every night. Even though they were together, they had not yet been intimate. Hannibal insisted on letting her keep her own space lest she become dependent on someone other than herself. It was important that she learn to love herself before she could love another. She felt that she did already. She had benefited from her therapy and believed she understood herself now better than ever. She liked who she had become. She liked who Hannibal had made her. It was important that he knew that.

After a quiet breakfast, she decidedly said, "Hannibal?"

"Yes?" he replied.

"I think you should know... I feel ready. I'm ready for you. I trust you, Hannibal, and I am grateful for the way you've helped me, the way you take care of me, the way you love me."

"Clarice, you mustn't give me all the credit. Indeed, you have recovered nicely and are ready for a change, but you helped yourself. I was there simply to guide you when you needed guidance. I do not take care of you Clarice, for you are wonderfully independent. My only agreement with you in terms of your last statement is that I do care for you. I do love you, Clarice."

It was the first time she had heard him say that, and it meant a lot to her. Hannibal rose to clear the table but Clarice met him as he stood up and locked him in an embrace. She faced him and gazed into his maroon eyes, lost. He bent his head towards her and they kissed tenderly.

"I always knew you would be here waiting for me, Hannibal," she breathed finally. She used to wonder if she would ever be more to him than simply a patient; an interesting subject. It was suddenly apparent, however, that he had loved her along.

Clarice wandered through Paris on her lunch break. She gazed into shop windows, and smiled at strangers who passed her. She stopped at _Le Grand Soulier_ for lunch and had a seat a table under an awning. In the afternoon sunlight, her thoughts wandered.

Suddenly, a flier posted in a nearby shop window caught her attention. She was so startled by it that she stood up quickly, almost knocking over the table. "Oh my God," she muttered. The flier was an add posted about herself and Hannibal. It was a warning against their potential threat. There was a notice at the bottom that said to contact the FBI in Baltimore if anyone should see the pair. _Both of us? How are both of us a threat? The only one that knows that I am happily living with Hannibal is Ardelia. Ardelia! How could she betray me! How?_

Desperate to avoid being noticed, or worse yet, recognized, Clarice ran back to the Louvres where she claimed to be ill and in need to return home. She raced to her car and drove non-stop back to her house in the valley.

Upon arriving home, Clarice immediately phoned Hannibal's office to tell him what she saw.

"Are you positive, Clarice?" Hannibal answered on the other line, a slight urgency in his voice. "It seems strange that they would come looking for us after so long. It is very unexpected. I thought we were… old news to the FBI."

"I'm not sure," Clarice replied. "I know what this means. We have to leave town. We have to stay hidden. We have to do something!"

"Please wait for me at home, Clarice. I promise that we will devise a plan." There was a click on the other end. Clarice sat in choked silence.

She roamed through the house trying to find an explanation. _Ardelia would not betray me, especially after three years. She must have had a reason!_ As if to answer her questions, a news broadcast blared in from the television she had turned on in the other room. The voices, in french, rang through her head speaking words that terrified her and angered her at the same time.

"Serial killer Hannibal Lecter, insane criminal psychiatrist, has returned to the Baltimore area. Three bodies have been found in the last week, each showing evidence of the doctor's trademark brutalities. FBI agent Ardelia Mapp explains that she is shocked to learn of the doctor's sudden return. 'I thought he had stopped, tamed by his love for my old friend Clarice Starling who used to work on the force. I was never supposed to tell, but I have received several letters from Clarice and she claims that she is fine. I don't doubt that she has taken part in these murders too, despite what I want to believe. I feel it is a great loss that she succombed to Lecter's evil. Sorry Clarice, but this is for your safety, and the safety of your possible victims.' Police are sending warnings to many parts of the U.S. and several countries in Europe for the couple have been known to travel. If you come across either Dr. Hannibal Lecter, or Clarice Starling, you are urged to contact your local police for your own safety."

_But it's not us!_ Clarice screamed inside her head just as Hannibal entered the doorway. He went to her and held her as she wept. "It's not fair! We are _both_ innocent of these crimes!"

"I know. I heard on the radio. We must simply wait here."

"But for how long?" she asked in sobs.

"I do not know, Clarice," and Hannibal Lecter was truly dismayed.


	3. Fighting Truths

FIGHTING TRUTHS

It had been three days since the news broadcast had informed Hannibal and Clarice of their danger. They had spent the time at home, ignoring phone calls and not going outside. Most of the time, they reminisced on what they had done during their time together. They talked of the great places they had visited in both Europe and South America. They talked about their great artistic endeavours from symphonies to operas and the great parties they hosted at their home. No one had ever recognized them before. They had always thought the trouble was over.

Even though Clarice had only recently become very close to Hannibal, they had made great use of the advance in their relationship. During the evening of the third day, Clarice was curled up in the doctor's arms. They were in their cozy living room lying on a soft, leather couch by a lit fireplace. Rain was falling outside the window creating a faint tapping sound against the glass.

"Hannibal," Clarice said, "we cannot keep hiding like this."

Hannibal sighed, "I know, my dear. I am thinking about what our next best move is. It will not be easy to remove ourselves from this place."

"But," she protested, "we need to act quickly. People will soon see the signs, hear the broadcasts, see the news bulletins and they will recognize us. They have our address. They have our information, whether or not it is real. We could be in a lot of trouble! Your patients, Hannibal, will turn against you in fear, and everyone who knows me at the _Louvres_ will come knocking on our doors with handcuffs waiting!"

"Funny," he chuckled to himself. "Under other circumstances, it would have been _you _at _my _door waiting to handcuff _me._"

She wondered for a moment. She still believed in everything she had been taught in her FBI training. She would never completely abandon her morals, despite the fact that she was living in love with a serial killer. _But,_ she thought, _he has not committed any crimes for such a long time. He is really quite… placid and charming. _Of course she would never let him commit those crimes again. She had hoped Ardelia would have remembered that before she made her accusations. She was suddenly quite bitter.

"You know I will never let you kill again," she said. "And if you did, I'm not sure what I would do… I would be devastated. I would have to leave you. I mean, I always thought I knew how yo –."

"Clarice, please." Hannibals maroon eyes flashed. "I would never do anything to displease you. Not on purpose, anyways. I cannot change my past, or my actions, even if I wanted to. You must realize that I am far from perfect. I am only human, Clarice, as are you. We sometimes cannot control our impulses, the way we think, what we do. We sometimes need to act upon our feelings simply to keep our minds in tact."

She looked at him quizzically.

He continued, "for example, you were changed, Clarice, by the death of your father and by your experiences on the ranch; the screaming lambs. Do not try and deny it. Ever since those unfortunate occurrences, you have made it your life's duty to save the lamb; save the world. Your joining the FBI is not a coincidence, but a necessity. It helps you feel that you are getting justice against those who were unjust to you."

She winced at the blunt way he talked of her past. She said suddenly, "what about you? Can you tell me exactly why you killed all those people, Hannibal? Why did you feel the need to become God?"

She had caught him off guard, slightly, but he recovered with tact. "Naturally, it is difficult for me to talk of myself in such a manner. As you are aware, Clarice, I did not have a glorious childhood, given the death of my parents and younger sister." Clarice heard a slight tension in his voice, "I told you before what they did to Mischa that winter, out in the barn. She was like your lamb, Clarice. The children were being slaughtered unfairly, unjustly, and eventually they slaughtered her and… consumed her."

Clarice honestly hated to bring him to his knees emotionally. But, perhaps if she could understand him a little better, she wouldn't feel so separated from him. "Why did that make you kill all of those people?"

"They were unfair to us. They were rude. I cannot stand rude people, and you know that. From that point, although I tried to forget what they did, I had no tolerance for those who lacked proper manners and consideration. I simply had to remove those people that displeased me."

"Like the flutist in the Baltimore Philharmonic," she said with a heavy sigh.

"And Paul Krendler," he added softly. "I know it angers you, Clarice, but I wanted to show you how far I would go. I only meant to do to him what he already mentally had done to you. You deserve better than the life the FBI was providing you with. You deserve more, my little Starling."

Battling again with her morals, Clarice finally accepted his consideration. He was giving her a compliment the only way he could. She knew he would always kill for her because, to him, death was the ultimate sacrifice. Likewise, Clarice would always protect him because, to her, life was the ultimate gift.

"Thank you," she said, finally. "What now?"

Hannibal thought for a moment. "I think that we need to pay close attention to the media. Waiting seems to be our only option."

Clarice sat up and released herself from his arms. Frustrated, she moved to the chair across the room, and sat down. She faced him and said, "there's simply not enough time to wait. We know that they have our information. We need to leave this place."

"There is nowhere to go," he replied. "Where can we go, Clarice? Can we run forever? Can we camp in the mountains like the Von Traps? We have no choice but to wait here because, like you said, Clarice, everyone will recognize us. Everyone will have seen our pictures so we are not safe anywhere. Now, what do you think?"

Clarice was taken aback for a moment, then said, "what if we turned ourselves in? They will see that the killer is still out there when more people are attacked. We will, of course, be accused of other things bu –."

"Not you, Clarice; me. You have done nothing wrong. I –."

"Hannibal," she cut him off, "I would not turn back now if I could. I… I love you too much to let you fight this battle alone. Surely we could try and explain ourselves. I could prove to them that you are not insane. You would not need to be imprisoned."

"Once they had me, you know they would never let me out alive. You cannot prove something that you are unsure of yourself. Are you not still afraid of me, Clarice?"

She realized that he had a point. There was simply no way of predicting the doctor's behaviour. He had successfully justified his desire to kill, but he never said that he had overcome his urges. "I am afraid, but not of you. I do not wish to see you incarcerated again. I could not stand to see you caged."

A slight smile curled his lips. "That's my girl," he whispered. He cast his eyes away from her and towards the window. Rain was falling still and thunder could be heard in the distance. "If you will wait with me, we can see what chances we will have. I will leave a message at my office explaining my absence. You can call the museum and simply say that you've found another job. If they protest, do not wait to hang up the phone. We have enough food here to last us another week. By then, I hope to have a plan. The gates outside are locked and this house is very secluded. I feel that we have some time before we really need worry."

"What if they come for us?" Clarice asked.

"If they come," he said, "then I will turn myself in, and you will be spared. You cannot argue; you have committed no crime."

Clarice walked back over to Hannibal and rejoined him on the couch by the fire. She wrapped her arms around his unmoving body and gently kissed his mouth.

As she settled into his welcoming chest, she whispered, "I will stay with you until the end."


	4. Bleeding Hearts

BLEEDING HEARTS

Clarice stared regretfully out the window overlooking the garden at the back of her house. There was a path that led from the back door out and around two porcelain fountains, past beautiful rose bushes and several other types of flowers including perennials, chrysanthemums, tulips and daffodils. Clarice's favourite flowers, however, were the bleeding hearts that were planted beside the wooden gate that led to an exit through the hedge. Bleeding hearts are small, delicate flowers that droop towards the ground. The ones in Clarice's garden were both pink and white but were, this particular evening, dark red in reflection of the setting sun. She turned her head from the window and saw Hannibal in the kitchen preparing the evening's meal. _My heart bleeds for you_, she thought to herself as she stared at him.

It had been about a week since Hannibal and Clarice had last left the confines of their house. They had both called and excused themselves from work and therefore felt they had granted themselves sufficient planning time before they were missed. Clarice found herself longing to be outside again. She wanted to sit in her garden at the very least, but Hannibal had warned her against doing so. She wondered at how he could have so much restraint over himself but remembered quickly that he had been locked up for several years and thus kept inside for a very long time. She shuddered at the thought of being incarcerated.

"Clarice," Hannibal's smooth, melodic voice suddenly rang from the kitchen. "It is time to eat. I have prepared a meal indeed fit for a king, and therefore sufficient for you." She grinned at the compliment.

During their time together over the last few days, Hannibal and Clarice had become significantly closer. They had experienced a new bond somehow; a new reason to protect one another. Remember that it was this sense of obligation that spawned their relationship in the first place. Clarice strove to protect Hannibal from the hands of the law and confines of his cell, and Hannibal would make sure that nobody stood in her way. Each felt they were doing one another a favour.

But there was more to their seemingly basic relationship. They shared more than a simple mutual understanding. They shared an intense passion for one another, a desire to be near one another, and the need to listen and to be heard. It was these things that their romance thrived upon.

Clarice made her way into the kitchen where candles were lit upon the black marble countertops. Their glowing cast shadows across the wooden floor and along the dark walls. As she entered, Hannibal's face was illuminated at the table where he had set out plates, silverware, wine glasses (not to mention a lovely bottle of merlot), and the meal for the evening. The doctor had prepared marinated steaks, mashed potatoes, an assortment of vegetables and a chocolate soufflé. He had not held back from trying to please Clarice, nor was he anywhere near displeased with himself. The meal was fantastic.

As they ate, they discussed the latest news they had heard, books they had read, thoughts they had, and even the occasional mention of the past. However, their conversation did not stray to the subject of their unpleasant situation. It was best not to ruin the evening with worry and apprehension.

When dinner was finished and the candles had burned low, Hannibal stood to clear the table. Clarice went to assist him when their doorbell rang. Clarice turned from the kitchen and made her way to the front of the house. She paused beside intercom that allowed her to communicate to guests waiting at the gate. She was slightly fearful of who the guest, or possibly guests, were. _Or are they intruders?_ she thought anxiously. Hannibal followed close behind her and gave her a signal to follow him. They retreated to the back of the house into a room that had an escape door to the backyard. They were prepared to make a run for it should that be there only option.

"This could be the end, Hannibal," Clarice whispered. Hannibal grunted slightly as he moved to her and wrapped his arms around her. "I do not want us to lose what we have. This paradise we've created."

"Paradise is an illusion, Clarice, and human emotion is based on illusions. Keep your illusions and your good memories inside of your head and do not ever forget them. They will be your saving grace when the worst comes to take its toll on you."

Clarice meant to question Hannibal's last statement when suddenly the phone rang. They simply let it ring. After several seconds, the answering machine could be heard from the room down the hall.

A voice spoke: "Hello, this message is for _la Docteur Clèter_. This is Alyane Dubois from the office. I am just calling from my cell phone outside your home since there seems to be no answer. I meant to drop off a package for you, but I will get it to you another time. Please take care, _Docteur_ _Clèter_." There was a click, and then silence.

Clarice turned around in Hannibal's arms. She said, "does that mean..?"

"Yes, there is no need for panic for the time being. However, I do suggest that, should we ever be confronted with a similar situation, we make our way to the upper level without hesitation to check exactly who is waiting at our gate. We should try to reserve our sanity and self control."

Clarice mused at the prospect of Hannibal being "insane" when quite clearly she was the one losing her grip.

The made their way to the living room where Clarice switched on the television. Understanding her train of thought, Hannibal used the remote to switch to the news stations. They sat down together and, after several minutes of miscellaneous stories, the broadcast switched to the story they intended to hear.

The newsperson spoke: "It appears that Dr. "Hannibal the Cannibal" Lecter has struck again just outside of Saratoga Springs, New York in the United States." Hannibal winced at the nickname. "A young woman was found early this morning with various organs removed from her body, the trademark 'sweetbreads' that have been the doctor's claim to fame. It appears that he has been moving from place to place without haste so everyone is warned to be on the lookout. Also, take care to watch out for the killer's partner Clarice Starling, shown here..." There was more mentioned in the broadcast, but it was already clear that the situation was only intensifying in danger.

"Hannibal, who is the one performing all the murders back in the States? Haven't you got any ideas?" Clarice inquired.

Hannibal looked thoughtful, and then said, "probably no more than an avid fan, Clarice." He seemed slightly amused, but censored his emotion when he noticed her disapproval. The joke was only humourous to him.

"I'm sorry, Clarice, that comment was not in good taste," the doctor apologized. He sensed her quiet mood and realized that she was trembling. He tried to answer her question, "the killer is probably someone who wishes to confuse the FBI. Someone who, probably affected by some other medium, finds relief in both killing selected victims and tampering with the police. I do not doubt that he has been in trouble before and feels that he has been treated unjustly. But I do doubt that he discards of the removed organs the way I did. It's all a game, Clarice. The game is what makes him happy; it is his paradise. His paradise is his illusion, and illusions satisfy the human mind. That is why he murders."

Clarice's mood improved slightly, but she still feared the hour when people would recognize their faces on television and search for them at their home. She felt that the end was very near. There seemed to be nowhere to turn, she though despairingly. No one to run to except... Hannibal.

Hannibal was the one who kept her grounded. He had rescued her from a life that was going nowhere He had removed Paul Krendler. He had delivered her from the Verger Estate. He had helped her deal with her past; he had silenced the lambs. He questioned her and challenged her, and yet was polite, and respectful. He used his cunning to benefit her, not to threaten her, and she appreciated that. Even now, when all odds were against them, he was prepared to take risks for her, to protect her, and to, if need be, take all the blame if only to spare her life. There was no question about what he would do for her. Even at her weakest moments, he valued her above all else. There was no support like that anywhere else in the world, she imagined.

She turned to Hannibal and stared at him with an admiring, grateful expression. Tears threatened to flow from her eyes despite the fact that she was now smiling. With wise understanding, Hannibal's eyes stared back reflected her own emotions. They met each other with a long and passionate kiss.

Nothing, not even police pounding on their door, could have separated Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling that night.


	5. The Dying Captor

THE DYING CAPTOR

Hannibal stood in the doorframe of his home's study. He surveyed contentedly the scene before him. Clarice, having not noticed the doctor, was reclining on a leather chaise long with a book of modern art in her arms. She was enraptured with the painting _The Persistence of Memory_. Indeed she appeared quite fascinated. She was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt and green and yellow pyjama shorts. The outfit hardly did justice to Clarice's beauty, thought the doctor, but nonetheless it was nice to see her relaxed. After all, there was so much tension in the house due to the danger awaiting them outside.

As the doctor entered the room to seat himself at his harpsichord, he brushed by Clarice, running his fingers through the strands of auburn hair lying upon her shoulders. He marvelled at how the highlights reflected in the light of her reading lamp. He proceeded to sit down and play variation twenty-seven of Bach's Goldberg Variations; his favourite one.

It was now a total of ten days since they had ventured past their front door, Hannibal recalled as his hands caressed the keys. Food and supplies were running low in the house and it would be dangerous to order groceries via the Internet. Despite their apparent dismissal from the evening newscasts, he did not want to go into town. But Hannibal resolved to believe that it was their only choice. He considered that the office had not contacted him, nor had their been any calls for Clarice. There were no visitors, no messages. It seemed to him as if the world had forgotten them. There weren't even any more crimes committed in the States. With no other available options, he planned to go to Paris the next day.

As the final notes of music ended in a well-structured cadence, he rose from the instrument and left the room informing Clarice that he was going to prepare dinner.

Clarice called to him, "would it be alright if we, you know, dressed up tonight? It has been so long since we've dined out and I…"

"Of course, Clarice," he said, smiling to himself as he popped his back into the room,

When the meal was prepared to eat by six o'clock, Hannibal set the table and went upstairs to change into one of his finest suits. As he peered down the hall, he saw Clarice dart out of her room and down the stairs, clearly ready for the evening's activities.

Hannibal left his room and wandered down the hall to her room. He entered, inhaling her unique scent. Her feminine aroma delighted him. As he ran his hands over her bed, a light outside caught his attention. He made his way to the window and saw that the authorities were outside the gate. They were not causing havoc, but were clearly prepared to do so. Three police cars were parked along the road and several officers seemed to be discussing an easy entrance to the house. He walked away from the window as the officers began to thrash at the iron-barred gate.

He sighed and thought, _I do wish it wouldn't come to this, Clarice_. He went back to his room to get a suitable blade with which to stop his intruders but remembered Clarice's words echoing through his head. _You know I will never let you kill again_. With apparent dismay, he said to himself, "of course, I would never do anything to displease you."

Hannibal went downstairs.

Clarice was waiting for him, standing behind her chair at the table.

"Good evening Hannibal," she smiled.

"Well, hello Clarice," he said with his usual charm. "I'm afraid tonight's meal is much less than fancy, but it is all that is all we have left."

"No matter," she said politely, and sat down.

Hannibal took a moment to admire the objet d'art in front of him. Clarice was dressed in a viridian green dress with emerald studded straps. A single navy blue slash of colour embellished the rippling material at the front running all the way to the back. It was the dress he had given her after a year of living by his side. Her auburn hair, complimenting the dress wonderfully, was pulled back into a simple ponytail.

Hannibal, looking quite proud, spoke, "Clarice, what a magnificent apparel you have gathered. It is quite stunning, what you can do with a little time. You look amazing."

"Looks are an accident," she repeated a line she remembered saying long ago.

"Indeed, Clarice, but not all accidents are unwelcome. You are certainly not unwelcome. Let me continue by saying that you are an unnatural beauty formed in a natural world. To create you I would need to gather all the fires of the Earth, all the grasses of great valleys, and the flowing waters of the most crystal clear rivers. And even then I would not have my Clarice. I would have a mere shadow of her. Do not ever forget who you are, and what you believe in. Despite what I've ever made you think, despite what I've taught you, never forget that you are Clarice Starling, FBI agent. Not even God himself could take that away from you."

Clarice took a moment to try and understand why Hannibal was saying the things he was saying, be resolved only that he often spoke his mind. Tonight, perhaps, he was a bit agitated. She responded with a quick, "thank you," and withdrew her questioning stare.

During their quiet meal, loud thrashing could be heard at the front door. Clarice looked up from her dinner with worried eyes directed at Hannibal. He appeared not to notice.

"Hannibal?" she began.

"Hush, Clarice. Eat your dinner." Hannibal knowingly ignored the distractions.

She continued, "I think they're…"

Suddenly, the police penetrated the threshold, yelling to one another. Hannibal and Clarice both stood. She tried to run but Hannibal grabbed her. "Go out the back, Clarice. There is no other option now."

Confused, she bolted towards the back but was dismayed when she found that Hannibal had not followed. She ran back to the corridor outside the kitchen and peered inside. Several officers were aiming guns at Hannibal saying, "put your hands up. We will not hurt you if you cooperate."

Hannibal followed their orders but had not bothered to remove the knife from his jacket pocket. It glinted in the light and the officers exclaimed that he was armed. In a quick moment, Hannibal managed to knock out several of the officers with strong arms. One officer, who was quickly rendered unconscious, had managed to shoot Hannibal in the upper arm. He passed behind a counter creating the illusion that he had left the kitchen. He quickly manoeuvred himself away from the searching officers and leaned against the counter near where Clarice was watching. He fell to the floor clutching his arm. He looked up and caught her eyes.

Horrified, Clarice mouthed, "why?"

Hannibal took a moment to escape his unpleasant situation by reverting himself to his mind palace. There were his parents, Mischa, and his beautiful Clarice. There was the Belvedere, sheets of music, and a gourmet dinner. _How perfect_, he thought.

After dimming the pain, he returned to conscious thought and tried to think of a reasonable answer for Clarice. What could he say? He only wished to save her. For her to escape the same punishment he had endured. He had led her into a life that would land her time in jail. He would not have had that happened to her. He felt as disgusting as Miggs. What had he done to his lamb; his beautiful Clarice? He should have let her run.

He _was _letting her run! Why wasn't she running? She didn't have to, of course. What would the FBI give her for escaping the wrath of Dr. Lecter? A medal? A documentary? Pride? Honour? No, she wouldn't need those things. She wouldn't need some plaque on the wall to tell her that she was strong, beautiful and courageous. She wouldn't need some silly press conference or television program. She wouldn't need more money or promotions. No… No… No…

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the house. Hannibal had been shot in the in the chest by a rousing officer on the opposite side of the room. Blood spilled onto his white shirt, staining his tie.

Clarice gasped in terror. Desperately wanting to run to him, she thought better hearing the other officers running down the stairs towards the kitchen. Before she turned to run, she turned around to face Hannibal again. His eyes looking past Clarice, he whispered, "for that, Clarice, all you would need is a mirror." His eyes closed as he escaped one final time to the confines of his mind palace.

Tears streamed down her face as she bowed her head and turned from her dying captor. She lifted her head and found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror across from the kitchen. _He didn't kill them. He didn't kill them for me._

On the verge of breaking, she ran down the hall into the salon. She opened the door and ran out into the backyard. The door slammed behind her, knocking several objects in the salon to the floor. The officers heard the noise and headed for the salon.

Clarice ran through her garden, darkened by the evening sky. She ran past the hedge and through the gate. Fighting back tears and breathing heavily, she ran blindly down the path. She fell suddenly not knowing whether she had tripped on a stone, or on her grief. Sadness overwhelmed her shaking figure and she wept there upon the ground.

After several minutes, she got up and tried to think about what she should do. Without a chance to assess her situation, strong arms grasped her from behind.

"J'ai lui trouvé, capitaine!" the officer yelled.

"Oh God," she muttered, and was silently led towards the cars parked outside her house, tears streaming down her face.


	6. Robin Red Breast

ROBIN RED BREAST IN A CAGE

Clarice awoke from a troubled sleep, but did not open her eyes. She did not want to believe, or even think about what had happened in the past forty-eight hours. Lying on her back, she inhaled deeply while sensing every physical part of her body. She felt all right, but only on the outside. Inside, she was shredded into confused confetti. 

There was no way to avoid it.

She opened her eyes and was face to face with a white ceiling. The lights across the back wall hummed quietly, but other than that, all was quiet. She sat up on her cot and saw a tiny metal toilet, a stone sink, and a broken mirror. The three wall faces around her were made of rough, grey stone that was never meant to be penetrated. Looking to her right, she found herself peering through cold, iron bars. _How is it that I am here after everything I have done? After everything I have been through? I let my guard down once, and I'm here._

Of course the situation created inconceivable irony. Suddenly, _she_ was locked up, and Hannibal… where was Hannibal? She didn't know. She wasn't sure she ever would. It had been two days already since she last spoke to anyone. The police had taken her to the airport in Paris and sent her, handcuffed the entire way, back to Baltimore. After the guards had put her into her cell, no one came back to question her.

As the incredible weight of the situation fell upon Clarice, she began sobbing into the pillow on her cot. Her body heaved as all her emotions poured down her face held within her tears.

After several minutes, she forced herself to regain control. She stood up and found herself looking into the mirror. She disliked what she saw: puffy, red eyes, unkempt hair and, the worst part, in her opinion, a blue convict uniform. It certainly did not belong on her. It did not fit Special Agent Clarice Starling. In her reflection, she no longer saw the young girl who pursued her dreams to honour her father's death and make her parents proud. She saw a woman who had been successful, but had made mistakes along the way. She was the a mere shadow of Clarice Starling. Like the pathetic combination of fire, water, and Earth that Hannibal had lectured to her two nights ago at dinner. She was nothing.

She pulled herself away from the mirror and drew her face up against the bars. She was in the second last cell of the row. There were no sounds resounding in the stony hall, so she resolved that she had no neighbours. She was alone.

An antisocial orderly brought dinner. She quietly accepted the meal.

While she ate the unspeakable bland food (at least bland compared to what Hannibal used to make), she pondered her situation. How could she prove her innocence? How could she communicate with others if they didn't come to her first? And most importantly, how could she move on without knowing the whereabouts of her beloved captor, Hannibal?

Her heart ached as she swallowed her last few bites. For countless hours she remained seated on the floor facing the stone walls. She neither did, nor said anything, but merely sat in thought.

_It was this, then, that Hannibal spoke of many days ago. "Hold on to your illusions for they will be your saving grace when the worst comes to take its toll." My illusions will keep me grounded. My very own mind palace. A place to remember the paradise I once had. The paradise I've now lost._

Clarice, unaware of the events of the outside world, finally laid herself back down to sleep upon the cot. Only the sound of her slow breathing and the hum of the lamps could be heard throughout the night.


	7. Familiar Voices

FAMILIAR VOICES

The hum of the lights in the cell was becoming quite a nuisance. Clarice could not stand to hear them any longer. She was also painfully aware of other small noises such as the sound of the asylum nurses moving around, the activation of heating systems in the building, and her own movements of course. She longed to hear the exquisiteness of classical music and opera again, or Hannibal humming to himself in the kitchen, or the breeze rustling through the garden of her home in France. She definitely wished she could start over and continue her work for the FBI. But it seemed now that almost all hope was gone.

The clang of the metallic sliding doors made Clarice jump, however slightly. The slow, cautious sound of apprehensive footsteps made its way to her ears as the visitor approached. They were women's shoes. A distinct scent wafted through the air in Clarice's cell, however she didn't catch it: she had not yet acquired the talent that Hannibal had developed so well during his own incarceration.

Clarice stood up to greet the visitor, waiting anxiously, her face pressed against the bars. "Ardelia!" she exclaimed when the women came into view.

Ardelia Mapp stood with her back against the wall adjacent to Clarice's cell. Her gaze was cast downward and she seemed perturbed. "What can I say, Clarice?"

There was a long silence.

Clarice's mind was filled with thoughts, expressions, questions, and ideas. Finally, she picked one and spoke, "Ardelia, I'm sorry that you think I've changed. I'm sorry you think that I abandoned you, and my morals, and everything thing I believed in. If I have, then I am sorry for that too." Her apologies were genuine. "But truthfully I– "

"Clarice, I know it wasn't you." Ardelia said suddenly. "And I know that it wasn't Hannibal either."

Clarice was awestruck. "Then why am I here?" she asked, trying to stay calm. "Why am I here in a cell, fighting between right and wrong and wondering where the hell Hannibal is? I mean, he's probably dead somewhere in a cold metal drawer at the morgue!" Ardelia did not respond to this.

Clarice was growing angry, despite having not seen her best friend for three years. Trying to calm herself down, she asked, "how did they find us at the house?"

"There was a patient who visited Lecter, or 'Docteur Cléter', regularly. After seeing the notices we had posted around both the U.S. and Europe, he contacted our headquarters."

"What was his name?" Clarice inquired.

"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to tell you that."

"Of course."

Ardelia continued, "it was about five days ago that we finally learned of your whereabouts with the help of a few other people. We were waiting to see if we could catch you on your way out the door, but it seemed inevitable that we'd have to go in. We devised several plans to follow in case Lecter, or you, became violent. It was not an easy task, as you can imagine." Ardelia had begun to converse with Clarice as if they were back in their old apartment exchanging anecdotes. Clarice resented this.

"OK, so they caught us. They brought us here. Surely you cannot believe that we caused the murders in the states. Hannibal's patient must have clarified that we were in town."

"Frankly, neither he or his secretary could confirm your whereabouts. The patient had not had sessions since November of last year, and the secretary explained that Lecter was always very private about what he did on evenings and weekends. He seemed almost secretive to her. This was conviction enough for us at the time."

Clarice was enraged again. "How could you believe that I would actually let Hannibal kill again? He's beyond that! He's a very complex and, believe it or not, civil man. I knew he never would kill again. He would never risk that. He would never risk me."

Ardelia went to speak, but Clarice continued with her heated release. "I trusted you, Ardelia! I gave you my word - our word - in every letter and in every message I ever sent you, that we were happy, safe, and most importantly living normal lives. I confided in you that Hannibal wasn't harming me, or anyone else. And somewhere along the way you stopped believing in me! You stopped believing in Clarice the knows-the-difference-between-right-and-wrong girl. You stopped believing in your colleague who fought alongside you during FBI training. You stopped believe in your best friend! I mean, fuck Ardelia! How?"

Ardelia met Clarice's eyes with her own. Tears were falling from her large, brown eyes. "He killed again."

"What?"

"He killed again. The killer we mistook for Lecter. Police found another body this morning. It looked like one of Lecter's. According to the autopsy, the victim was only disposed of last night. It couldn't have been Lecter because last night we… He's dead, Clarice."

Now it was Clarice's turn to cry. Not just cry, but weep. And how she wept. She wept for Hannibal, for Ardelia, for her mistakes, for her abandonment. She wept for every captive soul. Sitting on her cot, she lifted her head from the arms in which her head was buried. Her sleeves were damp with her bitter tears.

With a deep breath she said, "is there any way I can get out of here? I need to see him. I want to know what they're going to do with him. He's not just some body you can throw out. He's so much more!"

"Look, Clarice. I've missed you girl, I really have. I didn't want to believe that it was you. This is not how I wanted to see you again. It's really not. I wish I had known the truth. But I did what I thought was right. It couldn't have been helped. I had no choice. If only I had known…"

Clarice stood up approaching the bars. She asked again with urgency, "Ardelia, is there any way I can get out of here? I haven't done anything! You know that! The police know that! I don't belong here, Ardelia! Ardelia? Ardelia?"

Ardelia averted her eyes. "I'm sorry Clarice, it couldn't be helped… It couldn't be helped." She repeated this as she backed away from the cell. She kept walking until she got to the end of the hall. She yelled back to Clarice who was crying for escape, "It couldn't be helped, Clarice! I'm sorry!"

The iron doors slid shut, slamming with a bitter clang. Faint voices would have been heard were it not for Clarice's screaming.

After several moments when Clarice was hoarse, she faced the mirror again. _What would they give you, Clarice? _Hannibal's voice rang through her head. _A plaque? A medal? Something to look at from time to time to remind you of all your successes in life?_

All you would need for that is a mirror.

It was bittersweet to imagine hearing the calming voice of Hannibal Lecter inside her head. But it was better than the monotonous hum of the florescent lights that slowly flooded back into her ears.

Sitting down, she fought back fresh tears. Clarice was alone. Again.


	8. La Vita Nel Cielo

LA VITA NEL CIELO__

Nine years later, Clarice has been transferred to New York State Penitentiary. She remains incarcerated after having been charged and proven guilty of assisting in the escape of, and then living with under illegal circumstances, the serial killer Hannibal Lecter.

Click. Slam. Soft footsteps. An awkward pause. Footsteps. Slam. Click. Clarice's dinner has been placed in front of her.

"Thank you kindly, Paul." Clarice said sweetly. The guard looked at her and flashed her a quick grin. She smiled inwardly reminiscing after hearing herself speak the guard's name. _How ironic, perhaps._

She ate the less than adequate food silently, looking quite peaceful and calm. Indeed that was how she was superficially. Inside, however, she had created an elaborate palace much like to the one she and Hannibal had shared years ago. It was her paradise. She had stored all of her pleasures, great moments, and special times there. She often recalled quite vividly the night that Hannibal had told her to hold onto her illusions. They really were illusions in the plain, white cell in which she resided.

It had been seven years since anyone had come to see her. She was last visited by Ardelia, and two of her friends from the FBI. They had come to deliver some of her things that she would be allowed to keep with her. It wasn't much. In fact, she hardly needed it.

She spent most of her time wandering through paradise searching for Hannibal. She had never found him, to her dismay. She was so distraught that she could not conjure up scenarios involving her beloved doctor. It was simply too overwhelming for her. She found it best to avoid thinking of him. It eased the pain of losing him.

Loneliness and despair covered up be denial had transformed Dr. Lecter's fearless, beautiful Clarice into a caged bird whose captivity has prevented him from flying. Doubtlessly, everyone she knew had forgotten about her.

Once again held at the mercy of her paradise, Clarice wandered through her old West Virginia town comforted by the face of her father. Her beloved Daddy who would protect the town from the most evil of evils. No doubt he would have protected her from the hell she was living now had he not been taken away from her. She relived the wonderful times she had spent with friends from her childhood, piano lessons, running through the forest, tasting wines, exquisite dinners. She even recalled time she had spent with Ardelia, despite her bitter betrayal.

The smell of spice and sweat wafted into Clarice's cell, rousing her from her reverie. She sat immediately upright, facing the opposing wall. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and her hands rested loosely at her sides.

"Why, hello Paul. Have you come to take away the aftermath of this _delicious_ meal?"

"Yes, Miss Starling," the guard replied. "If you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all. Give my compliments to the chef, would you? I could not bear to let myself live knowing that he is not aware of his… obvious talent."

"Can do, Miss Starling." Paul left her slightly amused.

Settling back into her cot for her evenings rest, she suddenly felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She stood, trying to get herself to the nearby sink for water, but managed only to get halfway across the cell before she sank to the ground. She felt a hot, burning sensation in the back of her head.

Suddenly, a smooth and wonderfully welcomed, familiar voice struck her ears, "Clarice, is that you? You have evaded me for so long… why is that, Clarice? Are you frightened to think of me?"

Sharp pain shot through Clarice's body from the base of her neck out to her right hand. She writhed upon the cold hard floor, not making more than a whimper.

"Answer me," the voice insisted.

"I am sorry, Hannibal," Clarice whispered. "I thought it was you who evaded me. I could not bear to think of you when the very notion of it makes my hear want to splinter at the center and fold out into a quivering mass of grief."

"Understood, Clarice, but I have missed you. I have long wandered the halls of my palace and found your usual spot empty. Although much of my time was spent with my beloved Mischa, you cannot believe that you would go overlooked. Did you think I would overlook you?"

Another sharp pain ripped through Clarice and she groped the wall to find the sink. No such luck.

"I didn't think you would overlook me, Doctor. I didn't know how to find you. Forgive me."

There was a sigh. The burning in Clarice's head did not stop. "Now you have had a taste of my life in prison. It is not pleasant, but I commend you on your surviving this long. You have been courteous to your guards, and fairly accepting to your situation. You have waited long in your Godforsaken cell and your patience has not gone unrewarded. You remain to be the same brave Clarice as always. All that is different is the media with which you work. You have not been catching criminals, or coaxing flowers from the soft earth. You have been creating a wonderful paradise. That is what I wanted.

"But now, Clarice, I think you deserve to be taken from this crude lifestyle and delivered from your hell. Yes, Clarice, for these past years I have not forgotten you. Not in the least. Come with me now, and you will see." More intense burning caused Clarice to breathe heavily, whimpering softly. Another sharp pain from the top of her head down to her feet caused her to scream suddenly until the burning grew unbearable. Then, she knew nothing but darkness.

"Clarice, open your eyes," Hannibal whispered.

She felt him kiss her gently, and then she did as she was told. She was overcome by the sight beheld to her. She was in a garden infinitely greater and more beautiful than the one she had maintained in France. There was a lovely terrace with a golden table set with dark plates, and burgundy candles. The silverware glistened in the sunlight flooding through the apple blossom trees. Beautiful symphonic music poured into the scene from every direction and mixed with the sound of flowing water. At the edge of the terrace was situated a large, lion-shaped fountain that seemed to spout delectable, golden honey. Rare and wonderful birds complimented the setting with their reds, blues and greens, and curled up at the base of the table was a tiny, white lamb.

There were several other sights that Clarice took notice of, but unfortunately we could not comprehend them for they were elements of the afterlife beheld only to them. She was awestruck by the powerful beauty that surrounded her. Had she possessed the ability to breathe, she would have lost her breath, and her heart would have exploded with joy.

Perhaps the most exciting aspect of this heaven was the sight of Hannibal in a fine suit with a deep red tie, his now long, dark hair pulled back into an elegant ponytail. His eyes glistened with admiration of her. At his side stood a small child with delicate, blond locks falling around her shoulders.

"Mischa," Clarice whispered.

Mischa smiled brightly and ran to Clarice. She spoke no words, but grabbed Clarice's hand and pulled her to the table that Clarice now noticed was set for three. They enjoyed a perfect dinner of heavenly delights.

After the dinner, Clarice asked no questions about where she was or how she got there. She was simply happy. The dinner slowly melted away into an oblivion ultimately more exciting and wonderful than anything on Earth. It was the epitome of their euphoria. A flawless combination of Hannibal's palace and Clarice's paradise. There would be no more suffering, no more law conflictions, no more death, pain, hiding, or rejections.

There was no room for any of it where they were.

_So it was noted that Clarice M. Starling died in her cell for unknown reasons. Autopsies showed no sign of a stroke, seizure, disease or outside trauma. It was simply an inexplicable phenomenon. _


End file.
